


Phone Call of Hell

by ninamalfoy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Betaed, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:18:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamalfoy/pseuds/ninamalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It's all Lukas' fault. And the phone call's.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Phone Call of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> First published on LJ on January 29th, 2006.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.
> 
> You just have to love a beta who makes superb suggestions, tweaks a little here and there in just the _right_ way and is even willing to beta an added-on pr0n scene... (although I suspect the latter was quite enjoyable *g*) - so, thank you a whole lot for being there for me all the time, cerulean_eyes! *blows kisses*
> 
> Also, belated thanks to harisukaori, who took pity upon me and corrected the Polish bits! Dziękuję! :-)
> 
> A little warning: There's a bit of het!sex, but it shouldn't interfere too much.

It's all Lukas' fault. And the phone call's. Don't forget the phone call. Bastian sighs, flopping back onto his back. It's early morning, way too early to be awake, but he just woke up, like that, and it felt strange. Something was amiss, niggling at his mind, and he couldn't pinpoint it exactly. He knows he should catch some more z's, it's, what, half past 6 am? The digital display of his watch is glowing a faint blue in the dusty morning shadows and, just like that, he wonders what Lukas is doing now.

Probably snoring in his bed, the great lazy sod. And very probably not alone.

Bastian's alone, although it's not his fault. Daniela is at home, some boring birthday party of her great-grandmother's with all the Aumeier relatives, and Bastian had excused himself with having training as there are always more or less important matches looming on the horizon, but thus he's missing out on having her in his bed as she's staying the night at her mother's to not have to drive back to Munich late at night. And her grandmother does make the meanest pig roast Bastian's ever eaten – but Dani has promised that she'll take some home for him.

Anyway. The bed's empty, and his stomach's remembering the delicious pig roast and uses this opportune moment to remind him that he hasn't eaten all that much last night and that some more stocking up wouldn't go amiss, and it isn't as if Bastian can just turn over and sleep on, so he gets up, only in boxer shorts. Opens the bedroom door – damn, did he forget to turn off the hall lights, again? Well, it isn't as if Dani'd tell him off for it, so he shrugs, switches it off and walks toward the kitchen, yawning slightly.

The fridge is rather empty. Not much in the way of edibles there, and he's still got that craving for Dani's grandmother's pig roast. Bastian sighs, scratching his arse. Well, there's still milk, so he can scarf down cornflakes. Just as he's sloshing the milk over the cornflakes – oops, almost too much, and he raises the bowl to his mouth, drinking off the overflowing milk. Some sugar, and then he stirs it.

There should be something on TV, even if it'll bore him, and if not, he can still play some ProEvolution Soccer, and with this thought in mind he's entering the living room, the sky outside getting brighter by the minute – the sun'll shine right into the room soon – and before he can switch on the TV, he notices that his cell phone, which is lying on the table, has an unread text message.

'Hey Schweini, see you soon. Sorry for yesterday – not. Lukas.'

~~~

Lukas grunts, rolling over in his bed. Monika has already gotten up, and by the sounds she's occupying the bathroom, showering. The thought of getting up and into the shower, along with her, flashes through his mind, but when the cell phone next to him vibrates, whirring slightly, he picks it up and grins. Bastian.

'If you pull something like that again, you're in deep shit. Really. When are you coming? Bastian.'

Lukas is still grinning as he deletes the message. He has already booked a red-eye flight for the evening before his next free day, having to attend an interview for a magazine, complete with a photo shoot, in Nuremberg. Bastian'll come, too, in the evening, and, well. He dials the Bavarian's number.

"Asshole."

Lukas snorts. "Is that how you greet your friends?" – "No, that's only reserved for the really obnoxious ones like you," Bastian shoots back.

"You liked it," he says, "very much even, considering the noises you made." He chuckles, knowing that Bastian is blushing right now.

"Fuck you," it comes floating down from space, "I wasn't alone in the toilet."

Now Lukas has to laugh.

"Yeah, yeah. _I_ had to be the one being ridiculed from the whole team for being so horny that I had to phone my girlfriend in the break to jerk off to her, and that's all thanks to you!" Bastian now sounds faintly pissed off. Still chuckling, Lukas tries to apologize. "Hey, how was I to know that someone was listening in?"

"I don't know, supernatural powers?", the sarcastic rebuttal comes. "Or you could have waited until _after_ training, like any sensible person would do."

"Hey, me and sensible? No way, Basti," Lukas chuckles. "Who was listening in, though?", he asks, curious. A sigh. "Kahn."

"Oh," Lukas says, suppressing the laughter bubbling up in his chest.

"Yeah, _oh_. And Liza heard some of it, too."

Now that's cruel. Lukas knows that Bixente loves to tease his fellow teammates, and the dirtier the joke, the better. Combined with Kahn – especially a Kahn after a few beers – that's quite a lethal combination for any guy's self-confidence, especially if he has been caught in an embarrassing position.

It's a good thing that he had done most of the talking; whispering, to be exact, in that throaty voice that drove Bastian always crazy, describing in detail what he'd love to do to the Bavarian, listening to the moans and curses and the meaty sounds of skin on skin on the other end. Otherwise, well – he guesses a yelled 'Lukas!' wouldn't have gone over too well in the locker rooms. But Bastian's not much of a screamer, he moans and sighs and grunts and – sometimes – even squeaks. Which Lukas doesn't make fun of, because he thinks it's cute. Secretly.

The shower's stopped running in the bathroom, and Monika'll come in for dressing up, so he says a quick "bye, gotta go", hears an answering grunt, and ends the call just in time. Monika comes in, a towel wrapped around her body, drying her hair with another, smiling at him. He smiles back. She doesn't know, and he doesn't want her to. He doesn't understand it himself, sometimes, but then, that's the way life is. Like his grandma said once, 'Sometimes you just have to take it all and not worry about the consequences.'

Which will probably bite him in the ass, later. But right now, with Monika bending over and searching for undies in the drawer, exposing her lovely round bottom to him, he doesn't pay it much mind – and crawls out of the bed, getting closer and closer, and then he licks up one long thigh, eliciting a shriek out of her, but then she turns around and his hands slide up her thighs, her hips, and then the towel falls to the floor.

~~~

He's waiting in the lobby of the hotel Poldi said he'll be staying at; in a rather secluded corner from where he can see everyone coming and going, but is hidden by a great big stuffy plant with huge leaves. It's already half an hour past the time Lukas has said he'd make it, but Bastian's not worried. He knows journalists and photoshoots, having been there, done that, and they're notorious for drawing out their allotted time.

And then he hears a "Good day," and the guy at the reception desk points Lukas in his direction. The reputation of the hotel and the cash Bastian slipped him do pay off, as Lukas ambles toward him, grinning.

"Kochanie, nice to see you here." – "Yeah, and what's with the Polish? You know I don't speak any," Bastian replies, getting up and they shake hands, smiling at each other. "Oh, it's something I think fits you," Lukas smirks. Bastian, walking next to him towards the elevators at the end of the hall, raises an eyebrow. "Is it an insult?"

"Depends on how you'd take it," the Pole says, and there's that glint in his eyes that Bastian would call wicked. He snorts. "Knowing you, it's not going to be 'Hero' or 'Master of the Universe', is it?"

The only answer to this is a laugh from Lukas. "Well, kochanie ty moje, as long as you can't speak my language, you won't ever know."

Bastian sighs, waiting for the number display of the elevator to show the parterre. Lukas nudges him. "How are things in the locker room?" – "Do you even have to ask?", Bastian groans. "Kahn's calling for a wanker medal, and Bixente always asks real nicely and sorrowful about the state of my dick, because too much wanking isn't good for the skin and it could shrink, too, and whenever I'm in the shower with them, he tells the guys next to me to protect me from touching it too much, it might fall off…"

By now Lukas is doubling over, laughing that hard. "Oh my…", he gasps, "oh my god, this is…" – "Yeah, it's _awfully_ funny, and I won't ever hear the end of it," Bastian grumbles, and the elevator chooses this moment to open with a whooshing noise and a musical tinkle.

And when Bastian's inside, he feels two warm, sure hands grasp his arse, and then he's pressed against the mirror, hearing the whirring of the door sliding shut, and Poldi's whispering in his ear, "I'll make up for it," and Bastian can only sigh, "you better."

Lukas holds him in place, his hands and his hips, cutting forward, caging Bastian, like you would do with a wild animal, and Bastian bucks up against him, against the warmhard body, feeling the play of muscles through Lukas' shirt and jeans. His hands are scrabbling, futilely, for hold on the smooth mirror, leaving behind dampsticky fingerprints. Lukas is whispering into his ear, something Polish, repeating that weird word that he has deemed fit for Bastian – _kochanie_ \- and the raspy voice is accompanied by little warm puffs of air, and Lukas does know that Bastian gets the goosebumps in a major way when he does that.

And so it is; and another factor to be included in the prevalence of goosebumps all over Bastian's body is the hardhot length pressing against his arse, mirrored by his own aching cock that's squished between his own body and the mirror, and then the elevator stops –

and they turn around quickly, but if anyone'd been there, it'd be known in an _instant_ and it would be all over the gossip papers, but there isn't anyone – just the faint noise of a service wagon, the cleaning staff probably, can be heard to their left. They look at each other, wry grins overlapping the hard breathing.

"That was close," Lukas says, looking at Bastian. "Too damn close," breathes the midfielder, willing to quench that strange feeling in his stomach. It feels quite like when he's about to score a goal, about to outsmart the opposite defenders by tricks and turns and speed, and there's always the big question if they'll see through his manoeuvres and catch him, stop him. It's about tempting fate, in a way, Bastian thinks. But he always has Poldi at his back and he knows that he can trust Lukas to read his movements and to take over seamlessly. That's why they're called the dream couple of soccer, after all, he grins, following Lukas down the hall.

Lukas' jeans – some expensive brand, from the looks – hugs his arse, outlining the curves perfectly and Bastian whistles a little, a stripping tune he has picked up somewhere. Lukas' turns his head around sharply, but then his features relax as he sees what Bastian's looking at and grins. "Schweini, the music's playing over _here_," and then he's sticking his keycard in the door and opens it. "After you," and Lukas makes a little bow, eyes twinkling.

But Bastian just grabs Lukas' upper arm and pulls him into the room, and then Lukas is up against the door, the slam still reverberating in Bastian's head, and finally, they are kissing. Although, kissing is way too tame a word to describe the fervent clash of lips and teeth and tongue, wet hotness that gets fuelled more and more by their hands grappling at each other's shirts, graspingkneading bare skin. It has been too damn long, and Bastian's groaning into Lukas' mouth when the Pole's hands, sweatywarm, slide into the waistband of his jeans, a finger slipping into his asscrack, and he thrusts his hips forward.

Lukas bites down on Bastian's lip, a hard nip, and then summer blue eyes meet a green-flecked brown, pupils dilated and then, as if they're sharing the same thought, they pull away from each other, bending down to pull their shoes off with the socks, then either one's jeans are getting discarded more quickly than at the lure of a national squad training, and the underwear – Bastian's black CK ones and Lukas' red briefs – joins the pile, and the shirts get flung into opposite corners of the room.

They're now stark naked, hard cocks jutting out – Lukas' isn't as thick as Bastian's, but it makes up for that in length, and it's also more on the purplish side than Bastian's reddish one, and his balls aren't at the same height; the left one is a bit higher up. Bastian loves to suck them into his mouth, to play with the soft hardness, letting them roll around his mouth to savour the taste – saltysweaty. It's one of the things that make the forward come real quick, and when he looks up to Lukas, he grins, as the Pole has evidently read his thoughts – as proven by the flushed look, accompanied with a lick over the upper lip.

"Bastian," and then he's with Lukas, closing his mouth with his own, swallowing unheard words. As their bodies touch, _finally_, from head to toe, Bastian's hands cupping Lukas' arse and vice versa, he is aware of the deep hunger that needs to be sated. Walking backwards, he pulls Lukas with him, tongues stroking each other in rhythm with their slight thrusts – either one knowing that it might only take the one hard thrust to send the other one over the cliffs too quickly, and they don't want that, not yet – until his lower thighs meet the bed's edge, and the bed creaks as Bastian's breaking the kiss to breathe – Lukas is too damn heavy sometimes, really - and Lukas nibbles along his jawline, sharp bites.

"Kochanie ty moje," he whispers into Bastian's ear, breathy, after a nibble to his earlobe, and Bastian can only shudder and groan as he bucks up against Lukas, sharply, and his cock jerks. Damn, too _close_, damn the damned Pole, and the place between them has become a rainforest jungle with a waterfall, it's that wetslidinghot in there, and it burns him, but in a good way.

Their thrusts get into a rhythm of their own; setting a glimmerglow to any of Bastian's conscious thoughts until they're just jumbled up, flashes and images, and their edges are scorched, curling into themselves until – harder_yes_pleaseohmygod – they're just a heap of orange gleams, spreading and extending – he hears Lukas whispering something in Polish, and it sounds desperate with raw need, and Bastian can't bear it, this stoking of the fire that's threatening to eat him alive, down to his bones, but it's too late – and then he does _burn_, orangeyellowglaring, and it's shaking him; he hasn't come that hard in a long time, spurting and spurting, and then he feels Lukas bearing down hard on him a last time – and with a groan, halfmuffled in the sheets, his best friend also comes, adding to the wetness that Bastian feels dripping down his one side, and he holds Lukas tight through all of it.

After what feels like an impossibly long time, Lukas shifts, having not moved as much as a muscle so far yet, and Bastian feels him – he has his eyes still closed – stroke his cheek. Lukas' fingertips are rough, but so is his own faint stubble, too, and he is too tired to do more than smile.

"Still amongst the living, kochanie?", and Bastian is surprised that he can still speak: "Just barely."

Lukas chuckles softly, and then Bastian's all-of-a-sudden too weak arms slide down Lukas' sides as the Pole gets up, and coolness hits Bastian's still dampwarm body, and he shudders slightly. Soft steps, and then the sound of water running. Then a warmwet something hits Bastian's chest, and he squeaks, looking up and seeing Lukas standing in the door that leads to the bathroom, supposedly, grinning at him.

"You do squeak, Schweini. How fitting."

Bastian rolls his eyes and wipes their spillage off his stomach, cleaning off his soft cock and between his legs and then, with a quick reflex, he throws the soiled towel back at Lukas who doesn't duck in time.

"You asshole!", but Bastian grins. "Payback is sweet."

Lukas answers this with a yawn. "Damn, I'm too tired; the photo shoot took too long." Bastian nods, smiles – he knows how it is. He writhes, tugging the sheets out of from underneath him, and Lukas comes over to him, sliding in, and then they're next to each other, covered by cool sheets, limbs tangling easily and then he can feel Lukas smile.

"Just wait until tomorrow." And then the Pole's out, just like that. It's one thing Bastian envies him for, being able to sleep virtually anywhere and under any conditions.

Bastian doesn't notice he's smiling. The day went pretty well, and there surely will be more phone calls to come, he suspects, as his hand's absent-mindedly stroking the warm arm slung around his middle. Lukas' face is squished into the crook of his neck and there's a wet feeling; he's drooling on Bastian's skin, and if it were someone other than Lukas, Bastian'd shove them off the bed for it.

But it's Lukas. And that's enough for Bastian.

**Author's Note:**

> kochanie = darling  
> kochanie ty moje = my darling


End file.
